


Employee Assistance

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal asked for a sick day so that he could hole up until he felt better, but what he ended up with was an entirely different thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Employee Assistance

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a feel-better fic for [](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/profile)[**elrhiarhodan**](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/). I meant it to be a comment-fic but it grew a little. It's a follow-up to [Human Resources](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/525135.html) but you don't need to read that one first. I'm using this for the "heat" square on my [](http://angst-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://angst-bingo.livejournal.com/)**angst_bingo**.

Even as Neal dragged himself down the stairs and into a cab in front of June’s house, he knew he should just give in, call Peter again, and be honest. He knew that if he told Peter that sipping water felt like swallowing shards of glass and that his whole head and throat ached and throbbed in time with his heartbeat that Peter would tell him to stay home. Or possibly tell him to get his ass to the doctor. Maybe even offer to give him a ride, if things weren’t too hectic in the White Collar office. But Peter had gone and made it about pride, about work ethic, and Neal wasn’t about to contribute to Peter’s belief that his side of the law had the market cornered on work ethic.

Windows of opportunity for high-end heists didn’t come around every day, and the kind of jobs Neal pulled didn’t exactly offer sick days. So if Peter wanted him in the office, Neal was going to show up and prove him wrong. The whole thing would’ve been a lot more satisfying if he hadn’t actually felt so awful. Even with a cashmere turtleneck layered under his wool suit jacket he couldn’t get warm, and the hot tea he picked up wasn’t doing much to help his throat or the rest of him.

He sat at his desk and tried to work on the files in front of him, telling himself that he just had to make it to lunch time and then he could go buy some cough drops and DayQuil, but focusing was difficult. All he wanted was to go home. He liked to retreat when he was sick, curl up like a dog in its den, surrounded by darkness and quiet until he was ready to face the world again. And so he counted off the hours in his head—this long until he could get away for medicine, this long until he could sleep. Time passed far too slowly.

His brain felt thick, his head heavy, full of lead. He had to close his eyes for just a minute, and the manila folders felt cool against his face; he didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until Peter woke him up. The next few hours were a blur. He knew he moved from place to place to place with Peter’s hand at his back. He sat in a doctor’s office, blearily grateful that he didn’t have to change into a gown, and tried to focus on the poster on the wall across from him as somebody poked him all over his face and scraped the back of his throat. He didn’t want to be there, but he understood that after it was over he’d be able to go home and climb into his bed where his head wouldn’t have to feel so heavy anymore.

When he looked around himself enough to realize that he was at Peter’s house, he wasn’t sure what to think. “We’re going to get you well,” Peter said, his voice just as stern as it had been on the phone in the morning when he was telling Neal to get himself to the office, just as calmly certain of getting his way. Neal wasn’t even sure if Peter was still in the room when he stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, but he knew he was frozen all the way through to his bones as he got under the covers. And then Peter definitely was there, holding him up with a gentle strength that Neal could gave sunk into for hours, coaching him through swallowing pills and then pulling the covers up to his chin. Neal curled up on his side, trying to hold in the little bit of warmth he’d found, and when he felt the extra weight of more covers settle over him he let that push him right down into sleep.

~~~

Kate loved to lay out in the sun. She never wanted to tan and she frowned over every freckle, but when they were spending time somewhere sunny and hot she’d convince Neal to go to the beach with her. Neal was no fan of sunbathing as an activity—too boring, too hot—but the promise of smoothing sunscreen over every bit of skin exposed by the tiny bikinis she wore, almost every inch of her, was enough to draw him in to her wake. This time, he wasn’t sure where they were—what island, what sea—but he woke up on the beach overwhelmed with heat, his skin burned by the sun, and Kate was gone. He looked out at the churning water and saw her there being pulled away by the tide. She hated to swim, but that was her, pale against the dark water, and when Neal started to run toward her he felt a hand on his shoulder holding him back. He struggled and the sand shifted and dropped away all around him.

Neal startled awake and looked around, trying to figure out where he was, and the pieces came together in his brain one by one. A dimly lit room, a bed, a woman. Elizabeth Burke with her hand on his shoulder and a worried look in her eyes. Right, he was sick and Kate wasn’t there and those days in the sun were long lost and buried underneath years spent locked in concrete and steel. He was sick, and he felt _awful_.

“Neal? I’m sorry to wake you up, but we need to take your temperature. Do you mind?” She held up a digital thermometer, and when Neal opened his mouth she slipped it in under his tongue. Neal let his eyes close and he felt Elizabeth’s hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back. She was smoothing down the ragged edge of unsettled discomfort that made him want to move despite his exhaustion, and he’d almost fallen back to sleep when took the thermometer out of his mouth.

She sighed. “Okay. Neal?” She shook his shoulder again, and Neal was starting to resent that. “I need you to sit up for a few minutes. Come on.” Her hand was behind his shoulder now, tugging him up, and Neal gave in and sat up the rest of the way, scooting back so he could lean against the headboard.

“Hey,” he said, but talking hurt and swallowing hurt worse.

“Hey you.” Elizabeth smiled gently. “You know, I was hoping Peter would bring you out here again, but this isn’t really what I had in mind.”

“Me neither.” Talking didn’t hurt as bad if he whispered, but he was already tired of sitting up. “Tired,” he said.

“I know, but you need to take some more pills and eat something.”

Neal didn’t exactly feel sick to his stomach, but he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in the idea of food. He shook his head and let his eyes close. The headboard felt cool, and he tipped his head to the side to get more of that coolness against his skin. He heard footsteps, and he wasn’t happy to be left alone but he was relieved not to have to deal with things like pills and food. But then the bed dipped next to him and he felt a solid pressure next to his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, Elizabeth Burke’s face was two inches away, close enough to see the tiny lines under her makeup and the different shades of blue in her eyes. She was so pretty and so married to Peter and _so_ much trouble for him to even be thinking about.

She held up a small white bowl and raised her eyebrow. “This is organic, locally-made honey vanilla frozen yogurt. It should feel good on your throat and hopefully keep the antibiotics from making you sick. I can feed you like you’re my two year-old nephew or you can eat it yourself. Just a little bit, okay?”

And Neal couldn’t say no to her, so he took the bowl and with the first spoonful he knew she was right. The cold smoothness went down his throat leaving nothingness where the raw pain had been. Neal worked his way through the bowl while Elizabeth sat next to him with her bare feet on the thick quilt Peter must have spread over him. She talked about the event she’d been working on, and by the time Neal was finished with the frozen yogurt he couldn’t remember any of the details but he loved the sound of her voice.

She took the empty bowl from his hands and passed over a cup of ice water. “Now your drugs.”

Neal swallowed the pills, wincing as the hard edges of them woke up some of the pain in his throat, and when he was done she took the glass and climbed down from the bed. “I’ll leave you alone now,” she said, reaching for the light switch.

“Where’s Peter?” Neal asked before she could turn off the light.

“He’s at work, probably for another few hours.”

Neal had no idea what time it was, no idea if Elizabeth should be at work or making dinner or getting ready for bed, but he couldn’t help himself. “You don’t have to go.” He swallowed, winced. “If you don’t want to.”

She looked at him for a moment then nodded. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll be right back.”

Neal closed his eyes and slid back down on the bed, but he wasn’t quite ready to sleep again. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard footsteps again—human and canine. Satchmo jumped up and sprawled across the foot of the bed, warm and heavy over Neal’s feet. Elizabeth, now in yoga pants and a hoodie and no makeup, climbed back up to sit next to Neal.

“Do you mind if I turn another light on?”

Neal mumbled a negative, and through barely open eyes he watched her open her laptop and set her phone on the bedside table. She leaned back against the pillows and settled in with the laptop on her knees.

“What do you think about some music?”

Neal nodded, and he closed his eyes as the music started, just loud enough to hear. He didn’t recognize it, but there was a woman’s voice and a piano, and it washed over him along with the irregular tapping of Elizabeth’s fingers on the keyboard. He should be alone, he thought, alone until he could be at his best, but Elizabeth didn’t seem to need him to be his best, and Satchmo definitely didn’t. Peter had given him this, and it was all so strange, but he didn’t have enough energy to worry about it. As he fell asleep he admitted to himself that he was exactly where he wanted to be.


End file.
